


Arcade

by tepache



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, Everything Hurts, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, NOT RELEVANT I NEED TO STOP RAMBLING, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and now i need to go stalk that tag and read everything in it, i love the fact that "poe dameron hurts so pretty" is a tag, its not relevant i just saw it, no beta we die like jason, the like - Freeform, this is all just angst yall, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tepache/pseuds/tepache
Summary: Kon dies. Tim deals (not really). Then again, if you have the means to clone your dead best friend, why not try, over and over and over?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	Arcade

**Author's Note:**

> so [anothertimdrakestan](https://anothertimdrakestan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr said "oh my god guys look at this song its so sad someone please write a fic" and like a sucker, when elle says _jump_ i ask _how high_?
> 
> This is loosely based off the song [Arcade by Duncan Laurence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFrvRiixXcA) .
> 
> and that leads us here. apparently i am incapable of writing ANYTHING BUT ANGST. so have fun with this.

Tim had never been afraid of his mind. His ruthlessness was sharper than blade and his detective skills were keener than a bullet. He wasn’t some sort of super-genius, but he didn’t have to be. He was enough.

Sure, sometimes the wide, disbelieving eyes of his teammates made him a bit uncomfortable. But at the end of the day, he was keeping them safe, wasn’t he? Their comfort was a small price for their lives.

And now? Now he was damn  _ grateful. _

“Cloning attempt forty-five unsuccessful. Samples discarded.” The cool voice cut through the greenish-gloom, cold and mechanical. At times, Tim wished the voice held at least an ounce of warmth. He’d take any bit he could get, and wrap it around himself like a tattered blanket, just willing it to do its job and keep him safe. Other times, Tim was glad the robotic voice was frigid, impersonal. He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t break down at the first sign of kindness.

“Diagnostic,” Tim said, bent over a computer.

“Protein link breakdown at twenty-three hours and thirty-seven minutes. Full destruction at twenty-four hours and twenty-eight minutes.”

“Solutions?”

“Suggested stabilizer: trehalose.”

“Run it, next trial.”

“Cloning attempt forty-six initiated.”

* * *

“Tim,  _ come on! _ Cut me some slack!” Kon was trying to pout, but one look at Tim’s raised eyebrows caused him to double over laughing. “It’s not fair!”

“It’s totally fair. You just suck at this.” Tim was straightened up from  _ Street Fighter II _ , arching his back like a pleased cat. 

“You’re not supposed to use your superhero name on this,” Kon said, looking at the blinking line of text that said  _ Robin _ at the top of all the scores.

Tim scoffed. “Why don’t you say that a little louder,  _ Superboy? _ ” Kon’s own name was fourth, blinking a little less vibrantly.

“Whatever. I’m hungry,” Kon announced. 

“Oh, so  _ now _ you’re hungry? After losing for the billionth time, you finally want to get some food- _ hey! _ ” Tim let out a choked gasp as Kon grabbed him under his elbow, ruffling his head roughly. 

“Perfect timing, huh?” 

Tim could hear the laughter in Kon’s voice, so he elbowed Kon in the gut, roughly. “Mhmm, it really is.”

“I’m dying, Tim. Dying. You killed me.” Kon was still bent over, arm over his stomach.

Tim grabbed Kon’s other hand and laced their fingers together, thinking nothing of it, tugging to get Kon walking to the food court. “Yeah yeah, complain about it to Cassie. C’mon, I want nacho fries.”

Instead of responding with a laugh and a jibe about Tim’s taste, Kon just started coughing. And coughing and coughing and  _ coughing _ before he was on the ground.

Suddenly, they weren’t in the arcade anymore. It was a field, calm and peaceful and quiet and Tim was about to throw up because he knew this field.

Kon was lying ahead, staring listlessly to the side with dead eyes. 

“No, no no no  _ no, _ ” Tim rushed over to him, too late, always too late. But the field kept stretching out longer and longer, and Tim couldn’t reach Kon. He made one desperate leap for him, and hit the ground hard. 

There was blood all over his hands,  _ Kon’s _ blood. Seeping into his skin until his fingers had turned dark crimson, spreading down to his palms, his wrists, his arms. He scrubbed at the colour desperately, trying to get it  _ off _ . Itching and scratching and  _ God _ why won’t the blood just go  _ away _ .

Tim let out a desperate, wordless shriek, and the world tilted, turning on its axis and throwing Tim into the air. He woke up gasping, fresh tear tracks on his face.

* * *

Tim was sitting in a rolling chair in front of his computer, cross-legged. His eyes were drooping, but he forced them open. He’d caught a lead in his search for Bruce, somewhere in north Chile. He’d take a week, poke around, then come back here.

Sighing, he turned his chair, back still bent in an awful crouch. There was a glass case right next to him, a black and red T-shirt displayed proudly. He had a couple, but they were all back in his room at the manor. This specific one was the softest, and his favourite. But he couldn’t bring himself to take it out of the case, bundle it up in his arms, and bring it close to himself like he so desperately wanted to. Taking it out of the case made it  _ real _ .

“Cloning attempt sixty-two unsuccessful.”

Tim let out a near-uncontrollable cry, swinging his arms out wildly in a rare fit of anger. His fist flew towards the computer, and he managed to direct the hit to the wall next to it. The sting of pain brought him back to his senses, and he stared down at his hand, shocked. 

Taking in a deep breath, he shook his hand out and shoved his hands through his hair, ignoring the flashing  _ Trial Failed  _ sign on the screen. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t  _ fair _ . He always knew that he’d lose Kon eventually. Everyone he knew, everyone he loved always left him, voluntarily or not. He didn’t know why he played a losing game.

_ You know why _ , his brain told him.  _ You’re selfish. So, so selfish. You just a part of him for as long as he could give it. But it was never going to be enough.  _

“No,” Tim said aloud to the empty room. “He’s not gone, he’s  _ not _ .”

“Unknown command,” the automated voice system responded.

Tim held back another fit of rage, then bit out, “Diagnostic.”

“DNA synthesis failure at forty-eight minutes. DNA structural collapse at fifty-nine minutes.”

“Solutions?”

“Retry experiment. New strand of DNA recommended.”

“Run it.”

“Cloning attempt sixty-three initiated.”

* * *

“Tim,  _ come on! _ Cut me some slack!” Kon was trying to pout, but one look at Tim’s raised eyebrows caused him to double over laughing. “It’s not fair!”

“It’s totally fair. You just suck at this.” Tim was straightened up from  _ Street Fighter II _ , arching his back like a pleased cat. 

“You’re not supposed to use your superhero name on this,” Kon said, looking at the blinking line of text that said  _ Robin _ at the top of all the scores.

Tim scoffed. “Why don’t you say that a little louder,  _ Superboy? _ ” Kon’s own name was fourth, blinking a little less vibrantly.

“Whatever. I’m hungry,” Kon announced. 

“Oh, so  _ now _ you’re hungry? After losing for the billionth time, you finally want to get some food- _ hey! _ ” Tim let out a choked gasp as Kon grabbed him under his elbow, ruffling his head roughly. 

“Perfect timing, huh?” 

Tim could hear the laughter in Kon’s voice, so he elbowed Kon in the gut, roughly. “Mhmm, it really is.”

“I’m dying, Tim. Dying. You killed me.” Kon was still bent over, arm over his stomach.

Tim grabbed Kon’s other hand and laced their fingers together, thinking nothing of it, tugging Kon to get him walking to the food court. “Yeah yeah, complain about it to Cassie. C’mon, I want nacho fries.”

“No,” Kon was straightening up now, shoving Tim away. 

“Kon?” Tim asked, a little confused and a little hurt.

“You killed me. You  _ killed me _ .” There was a venom in his voice that Tim had rarely ever heard, and never directed at him. 

“I, I didn’t mean to,” Tim was stumbling back now, wide eyed, as Kon advanced on him.

“Yes you  _ did _ . You know what happens to people you loved, and you loved me anyway.”

Tim shook his head desperately. “I never said I loved you.”

Kon’s laugh was humorless. “You never had to. I knew. You really thought you could hide this from me?”

Kon was backing him against a wall now, arms on either side, effectively trapping him. Tim could get out, of course he could. But he couldn’t make his feet move, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Don’t, please don’t,” Tim begged when Kon leaned closer. “Kon wouldn’t, not if I didn’t want to.”

This Conner, one with a cruel, angry glint in his eyes, tipped Tim’s chin up with his finger. “Well it’s a good thing I’m not your Kon then, isn’t it?” His lips were brushing Tim’s now. “Besides, you always had a penchant for torturing yourself.”

Then Kon was devouring Tim’s mouth, and it was everything Tim had ever wanted, and everything Tim hated. Kon was possessive, passionate, biting his lips with a hunger that took Tim by surprise before licking into his mouth hungrily. His fingers were gripping Tim’s jaw, rough and firm, tilting his head to get a better angle. Tim had melted into it, letting Kon take and take and take.

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

Because Kon would have been gentle. He would have cradled Tim’s face in his fingers like he was something precious. His first kiss would have been tentative but sure, letting Tim know much he meant to him. He would have pulled back and smiled at the wonder in Tim’s eyes before ducking down to give him another soft kiss, chaste and oh-so-loving. 

Kon had just drawn back to sink his teeth into Tim’s collarbone when Tim woke up with a sob, out of breath and heaving.

He fell out of bed and ran towards the main room, ignoring the flashing light that noted the progress of the latest cloning attempt. He kept running and running until he reached the glass case, where he brought his fist back and slammed it into the glass as hard as he could.

It didn’t even crack. Of course it didn’t, it was reinforced. Tim threw another couple of punches, before spotting a spare piece of piping lying on the ground. He grabbed it and  _ swung _ , with every mite of strength left in his body, and crashed it into the case.

The glass splintered. He hit it again and again, until shards rained down around Tim, leaving small cuts in his wake. He grabbed the T-shirt, yanking it out of its stand and bringing it close to him, hugging it the way he’d wanted to for so long.

Tim bent over the ground, letting his tears seep into the fabric. 

He wanted everyone  _ back _ . His parents, Steph, Bart, Bruce,  _ Kon _ . He wanted them all back. 

“I’m close,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the T-shirt. “I swear it, I’m close.” He didn’t know if he was talking about finding Bruce or cloning something close enough to Kon. One of them would happen, and it would be enough. He’d stop losing at this rigged puzzle that was his life, he’d stop trying to play this losing game, and it would be  _ enough _ .

* * *

“Cloning attempt eighty-nine unsuccessful.”

Tim was wearing the Superboy T-shirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten out of it. His fingers played along the hem, twitching. His attention darted around from one screen to the next, taking in a map of Norway one second, and reading over the cloning file in the next.

“Diagnosis?” He prided himself on how steady his voice sounded.

“Proteins from Subject: Lex Luthor failed to fully integrate into Subject: Clark Kent, Kal-el. Possible problem: invulnerability of kryptonian genes.”

“Solution?”

“Kryptonite injections suggested.”

“Do it. Run it.”

Tim’s own voice had become as robotic as the computers. It was hoarse, raspy. He’d forgotten the last time he’d truly spoken, barring instructions to the computer and the cries torn from his throat in the middle of a night. Concerned messages from Dick sat unread on his phone. 

“Just, run it again. Run it again,  _ try again _ .”

“Cloning attempt ninety initiated.”

* * *

“Tim,  _ come on! _ Cut me some slack!” Kon was trying to pout, but one look at Tim’s raised eyebrows caused him to double over laughing. “It’s not fair!”

“It’s totally fair. You just suck at this.” Tim was straightened up from  _ Street Fighter II _ , arching his back like a pleased cat. 

“You’re not supposed to use your superhero name on this,” Kon said, looking at the blinking line of text that said  _ Robin _ at the top of all the scores.

Tim scoffed. “Why don’t you say that a little louder,  _ Superboy? _ ” Kon’s own name was fourth, blinking a little less vibrantly.

“Whatever. I’m hungry,” Kon announced. 

“Oh, so  _ now _ you’re hungry? After losing for the billionth time, you finally want to get some food- _ hey! _ ” Tim let out a choked gasp as Kon grabbed him under his elbow, ruffling his head roughly. 

“Perfect timing, huh?” 

Tim could hear the laughter in Kon’s voice, so he elbowed Kon in the gut, roughly. “Mhmm, it really is.”

“I’m dying, Tim. Dying. You killed me.” Kon was still bent over, arm over his stomach.

Tim grabbed Kon’s other hand and laced their fingers together, thinking nothing of it, tugging to get Kon walking to the food court. “Yeah yeah, complain about it to Cassie. C’mon, I want nacho fries.”

“Wait,” Kon’s fingers tightened around his own. 

“What?” 

“You don’t  _ need  _ food right now, do you?” Kon tugged him towards a corner, partially hidden by a column and an arcade game.

“I sure would like some,” Tim raised his eyebrows.

In response, Kon let out a chuckle, small but warm, the edges of his eyes crinkling in the way that made people fawn over Superman but made Tim fall even further and further in love with Kon.

“Well yes I  _ know  _ that, but I was just wondering...”

“Wondering what?”

Kon bit his lips before catching Tim’s eyes. “Maybe you’d like to taste something else?”

Tim stared at him for a second, stunned silence between them, before collapsing into laughter. “ _ Kon _ , oh my  _ god _ !”

Tim looked up to see lips turned out in an adorable little pout. “What! I’m being serious, and it was a good line.”

“It most certainly was  _ not _ a good line.”

“Cut me some slack here, Tim.”

“You mean like at Street Fighter? The way I cut you slack then?”

“Oh shut up. You cheat. I don’t know how you do, but you  _ cheat _ .”

And suddenly Tim found himself in Kon’s arms, leaning into the taller boy. Kon tightened his grip around Tim, fingers finding Tim’s waist, and cradling him gently.

“It may have been a terrible line,” Tim smiled up at Kon, “but it worked.”

He leaned forward, placing a kiss to Kon’s lips, delicate but not at all fragile. Kon looked awestruck for a minute, before swooping back down and capturing Tim’s lips again. Passive at first, Tim soon pressed back, letting the push-pull rhythm come naturally. They slowed down, came to a stop while resting their foreheads against each other, Kon bent over and Tim on his tip-toes and arched back, but not uncomfortable at all. 

“Okay but did my line actually work?” Kon asked against Tim’s lips, biting his own nervously. “Can I do this again? Because I’d really like to do this again.”

Laughter bubbled out of Tim, easy as breathing, and he pulled back to catch the other boy’s eyes. “Yes. We can do this again. But nacho fries first. Food, then kisses.”

Kon nodded. “Food, then kisses.”

Tim blinked awake, still curled up under the thin covers and swallowed by the pillows. This time, he could feel the tears pricking at his eyes, and he let them fall. “Take me back,” he wasn't sure if he said that aloud, but then again, there was no one there to hear it. “I want to go back.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut in vain, trying to will himself back to sleep. Then, he remembered the little bottle sitting in the bathroom, sleeping pills Dick had given him once that he refused to use. He threw the covers back and found the thing resting on the sink. He tore it open and shook one, two, three, four pills into his hands. Tipping his head back, he swallowed them dry, then stumbled back into bed. 

“The arcade,” he said to himself, burying his limbs under that T-shirt that still somehow smelled like Kon. “We were at the arcade.”   
  


* * *

“Cloning attempt ninety-seven unsuccessful.”

“Diagnostic.”

  
  
“Protein failure in link-”

  
  
“You know what? No. Forget it. I don’t want to know. Just run it again.”   


“Suggested solution-”

“ _ I don’t care!  _ I don’t care, just  _ try. Again _ .”

“Cloning attempt ninety-eight initiated.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you guys think, comments and kudos give me life.
> 
> i'm on tumblr at [river-bottom-nightmare](https://river-bottom-nightmare.tumblr.com/) .


End file.
